Masquerades
by SemixQuaver
Summary: P&P. Many said Charlotte was condemned to a loveless marriage. Many said that Charlotte didn't get the happy ending she deserved. Many did not know the real story. There was love at the small parsonage, but not the type one would expect.
1. Prologue

My dearest Lizzie,

I was overjoyed at receiving your invitation to your wedding to Mr. Darcy. You can imagine my amazement at reading the letter attached to it.

I regret to say I cannot be in attendance. As you know, my husband seeks the approval of Lady Catherine de Bourgh – his most magnanimous patroness as I am daily reminded – and as you are also aware, she does not give her blessing on you or your husband. Of course this means that if Mr. Collins and I attend, he will lose her favour, and you and I both know how he craves her attention.

I so wish I could just come by myself, yet Mr. Collins will not allow. I know you well enough Lizzie to know that you will be frowning and damning my husband as you read this, but do not be so cruel. He does what he thinks is best and as his wife, I must stand by him. It is hard, Lizzie, but I endure.

Please convince Mr. Darcy to help to heal this rift between yourselves and Lady Catherine, I do wish for you to come and keep me company. I have seldom to do here but to tend to the daffodils and daisies I told you about in my previous letters.

Do not worry for me Lizzie, I am quite content. Send my congratulations also to Mr. Bingley and Jane, I wish them every happiness – though I stand by what I said, none of that whole mess would have happened if she had secured her situation sooner.

Best wishes for the wedding Lizzie, I do apologise for not being able to attend.

Regards,

Charlotte Collins.

* * *

Dear Jane,

I have just received a letter from Charlotte. She writes that she cannot attend my wedding because Mr. Collins will not lose Lady Catherine's good favour! The insufferable man will not let her attend by herself, and she is drawn by her own sense of morality to do exactly as he says!

Oh Jane, how can she stand to be near that horrible man?

All my love,

Lizzie.

* * *

Dearest Lizzie,

We must not judge Charlotte nor should we judge her husband. Mr. Collins may be drawn by his own sense of duty towards Lady Catherine. Charlotte is right to stand by her husband, just as I would stand by Charles or you by Mr. Darcy.

Take comfort in the fact that Charlotte is content and in good health and do not vex yourself over this. She has made her choice, albeit not one we would choose for ourselves. It was a good match for them both. Charlotte is not as young as we.

Love,

Jane Bingley

P.S. It is amusing the satisfaction I draw from writing my new name!

_

* * *

_**A/N: **_So, this is my lame attempt at a P&P story. I was just at band camp this week, and for some reason this popped into my head. Lets delve into the inner workings of Charlotte & William's life - yes, Mr. Collins' name is William. Crazy, eh? Anyway, this is just the prologue, and I've only planned out the first chapter, which I'm halfway through writing - should be posted either today within a couple of hours or tomorrow, depending on my computer usage. It's not all going to be in letters, only the prologue is._


	2. The Right Words At The Right Time

**The Right Words At The Right Time**

* * *

Charlotte Collins knew that the life she had be dealt with was one Elizabeth Bennet could never be satisfied with, and that was why she knew that the letter she was posting would cause her dear friend great pain, and mayhap a little anger, but it had to be posted.

She sealed her letter and stretched her fingers, looking out to the garden as weak sunbeams filtered into the room. It had been grey and lackluster all morning, and it didn't look as if it was going to get any better.

What Lizzie did not comprehend, was that in some ways, Charlotte really did love her husband. Underneath everything, he was considerate and caring of her, and provided her with what she needed, setting her up for a comfortable life. But however little she may love her husband, she knew he couldn't return it. After their wedding night they had slept in separate bedrooms, and sometimes he wouldn't even look at her.

Mr. Collins took a great many trips to London to learn more preaching's on the word of the Lord, or to buy another differently bound version of Fordyce's Sermons. Even a simple trip to Rosings everyday lasted hours. There was always an excuse to be away from home – away from _her_.

To everyone else her husband would protest of their happy marriage. But only she knew the truth.

Charlotte stood and walked out into their main entrance hall, deciding that her husband would be back in about an hour, and there was ample time for her to do a spot of gardening before he returned – he had deemed it to much like farmers work, and they were most certainly _not_ farmers.

She donned an apron and gloves over her pale blue dress and began to cut and tend to the small patch of garden under her bedroom window that she had named hers and – until three months ago – had been an uninspiring dirt mound.

Then her pleasant reverie was interrupted by a loud clap of thunder and a sudden, fast downpour of rain. She laughed pleasantly, and stood up, abandoning the scissors she had been using to cut off dead bulbs and let the water rush over her until she heard hurried footsteps and felt a coat – or was it a blanket? – around her shoulders.

"Mrs. Collins! You know how Lady Catherine detests the noises one makes when one is cold!" he was scolding her, yet all she could think was how nice it was to have his arms around her.

He was hurrying her inside, and in no time she found herself seated on the end of her bed, and he was drying off her hairy, which had come loose from its tight bun. Through the thin veil it made, she could see the plain black of her husband's waistcoat. She was surprised to be able to see the taut curve of muscles and his collarbone, as he wore no cravat. Charlotte realised belatedly that this was because he had put it around her neck in an effort to keep her warm.

The slow drying motions he applied to her hair soothed her, and she could feel herself relax. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, feeling the whisper of his thick, dark hair against her cheek for a millisecond before he pulled away.

Yet he did not stop drying her hair.

Her husbands voice sounded forced as he started to say, "Mrs. Collins, what were you doing out in the rain? Lady Catherine warns us against such foolish tendencies daily." He removed his hands from her head, but left the towel there. Charlotte slowly removed it and looked up at him. Dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, and his mouth was twisted into an exasperated scowl. She could see the slightest bit of chest hair from the top of his shirt.

"I apologise, Mr. Collins, but I was gardening. I promise it shan't happen again," Charlotte said quietly, desperately wishing he'd just look at her.

"See that you do. You know how Lady Catherine detests such displays."

She tried to control the slight shake of her bottom lip. Of course there was no worry for her health, only worry for what the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh would think of the situation.

"Y-yes, I am aware of it, M-Mr. Collins."

And he left without a word. Charlotte couldn't help running the image of his exposed neck and chest through her mind, and the feel of the muscles beneath the smooth skin. She pulled the cravat from its place around her neck and breathed in the smell – mint and the unmistakable scent that all men have.

A small sigh passed through her lips as she mouthed the words she had longed to hear from him. "Never worry me like that again, Charlotte."

* * *

As she ate breakfast that morning, Charlotte wondered at the events of last night, and how she had slept with that piece of cotton pressed to her cheek as if it were actually him sleeping beside her. How she craved for him to hold her.

It was then that he emerged from the hall and into the dining room, where he sat and began to eat without a word to her, just a quick glance and nod of acknowledgment. After the tender moments that had transpired previously, there was an even rapider deterioration of civility, and Charlotte couldn't help but believe that it was her doing. Indeed, she _knew_ it was her doing. It seemed that even if she had said the right words at the right time, the space between them could never be bridged.

Mr. Collins kept his eyes on the task of spreading butter on the bread that lay before him, and Charlotte wondered if it was either because he couldn't bear to look at her or if it was something else. She was startled then, because he began to speak to her in his normal tone of slightly bored authority.

"Mrs. Collins, as you know, today is Saturday. We are to dine at Rosings, yet you're complexion is not promising. Inasmuch, I would greatly prefer if you did not attend tonight."

A rare moment of anger overcame Charlotte, and she felt her hand become warm as tea from the cup she had been holding spilt over to flow down her wrist and sleeve as her hand shook violently. She placed the cup back down on the saucer, and bit her tongue.

"Of course Mr. Collins," was her response. It was expected.

* * *

Dearest Charlotte,

I regret you cannot attend Mr. Darcy and my wedding, and I am most grieved. You must know how your decision has effected me, yet I have sought Jane's guidance on this manner, and she deems your choice to stand by your husband honorable. I admit – rather regretfully – that I would do the same in your situation.

Please Charlotte, I must know. Do you really love Mr. Collins? We all know what type of man he is, but if you can see redeeming qualities in him that no other person can, then I trust your judgement. You know the high regard I hold you in Charlotte.

I realise I was wrong to judge your choices on first reading your letter as our situations –while extremely different – are extremely similar. If you really do love him like I love Mr. Darcy then I know how hard it is for you to hear others speak ill of him. I have been blinded by prejudice so many times in the past that I have come to realise that upon better acquaintance, we learn more about each other.

So my dear, dear friend, tell me of your feelings for him.

Most Sincerely,

Elizabeth.

* * *

Dear Lizzie,

Your letter has startled me, and I am sorry my reply is so late. In answer to your question – yes, I do. I cannot fathom how or why, but I do. I cannot relate to you the exact circumstances, but my husbands feelings are not with me.

There, I have written it down. Mr. Collins is not in love with me. He married me out of necessity, as I with him, and yet in all his faults, there is gentleness and kindness. I see it, though this is never directed at me.

Lizzie, I know you do not understand, but mayhap I can help you. Mr. Collins has indeed many faults. He believes himself superior to others, has a moral righteousness I cannot stand and above all, he does not know how to love. Do not laugh Lizzie, for I know this to be true.

You know not of Mr. Collins' parentage, except that they are connected with you. As you know since your last visit to Rosings, Lady Catherine has allowed me the use of the pianoforte in the servant's area of the house. A Mrs. Ferryman, who was Miss de Bourgh's governess for quite some time now manages the household. When Miss de Bourgh was a younger girl, Mr. Collins first came here with his parents, and Mrs. Ferryman was a close friend of the Mr. Collins' mother, who is now sadly deceased.

How Mrs. Ferryman came to confide in me of this was simply my asking when she told me that my husband was the exact image of his father. She told me this with a great disgust, and hoped that he was nothing like his father in personality.

You may wonder, dear Lizzie, as to why Mrs. Ferryman held my husbands father in such a low opinion, and it is to do with the treatment of my husband and my husband's mother. I will not go on to detail on the subject, as some of the words Mrs. Ferryman recounted to me still haunt my memory, yet I will say that Mrs. Collins was found dead in the river. I am led to believe she drowned herself. I learnt this shortly after your departure, and from then I began to see my husband in a different light.

Perhaps you can understand, Lizzie, what he has been through and why he seeks approval and why he seeks to be a martyr through religion. I wish I could change that, but change – as you know better than anyone – takes two.

Regards,

Charlotte.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry, I'm lazy. So, I really need critique about the direction I'm taking with this, so I would _adore _constructive criticism. Thank you everone :D_

_And there's a song for every chapter. This one is _**Baby Can I Hold You** _by Tracy Chapman. Here's the lyrics that mostly inspired it._

_Sorry  
Is all that you can't say  
Years gone by and still  
Words don't come easily  
Like sorry like sorry_

Forgive me  
Is all that you cant say  
Years gone by and still  
Words don't come easily  
Like forgive me forgive me

But you can say baby  
Baby can I hold you tonight  
Maybe if I told you the right words  
At the right time you'd be mine


	3. Starting To Make It Better

**Starting To Make It Better**

**

* * *

**Having written down her exactly feelings to Elizabeth, Charlotte felt as if she had to find out more about Mr. Collins' past. He had told her not to stay up and wait for him, as he had gone to dine at Rosings this Monday as well, apparently sick of the sight of her and longing for more of Lady Catherine's _generous_ praise of his virtues.

But Charlotte had stayed up nevertheless. She knew that she would rest easier knowing he was back and safe in their modest cottage. It was then she heard the latch on the front door open, and she busied herself brushing her hair and plaiting it, trying to resist the urge to go and greet him.

Her surprise was great when there came a knock on her door. "Come in," she called softly, tying off her plait with a ribbon and quickly throwing a robe over her night gown.

Mr. Collins looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. "Mrs. Collins, I have, a… uhm… that is…" he trailed off, fiddling with his handkerchief and clearing his throat. "What I mean to say, Mrs. Collins, is that I have a… ah, request."

Charlotte felt herself soften. "Yes?" she waited patiently, knowing that he had trouble asking for anything. She felt a small pang at her heart, knowing that such a conditioning could only be traced back to his childhood.

"Lady Catherine," oh how Charlotte detested that name. "Has, ah, _urged_ me to… intervene in this correspondence you have with Cousin Elizabeth."

She could feel herself go slightly pale, and she gripped the back of the chair she had been sitting on before he had entered. "I beg your pardon Mr. Collins. Do you mean to say that I cannot write to my dear friend any longer?"

Mr. Collins' face hardened. "That is precisely what I am saying."

Charlotte looked down. She had known Lady Catherine to be spiteful, but this was much too much. What could she do? Deny her husband? Have him despise her even more so?

"I find myself unable to give you a proper reply, Mr. Collins."

"Are you undermining my authority, Mrs. Collins?"

Charlotte felt her face flush. "I apologise, but…Elizabeth is my dearest friend," she looked back up at her husband. "I entreat you! You surely know how much I value her?"

Mr. Collins stepped closer to her, his face slightly flushed, but not for the same reasons as Charlotte's. She could see him clench his jaw, his eyes darkening.

"Imagine what Lady Catherine will say. You know how I value her opinion, and you know how ill she views my cousin. Do you not see what a position this puts me in? Do you?"

"Am I so insignificant to you? I am your wife and yet you value Lady Catherine over me. Why?"

Her husbands palm lain flat on top of the dressing table and the loud sound that followed made her flinch. "Madam, if you are truly my wife, then respect my wishes!"

She backed down, and bobbed a small curtsey. "Then as you wish, Mr. Collins."

"I…" her husband hesitantly begun, his face shadowed by the slowly dying candlelight. "I do not understand you, Mrs. Collins, and my lack of comprehension is tormenting me."

Charlotte stepped closer uncertainly, reaching out and grasping his hand. His fingers were icy cold, and he pulled away as soon as the motion was made. Mr. Collins looked down at her, eyes wide and unreadable.

"Do you understand me now?" she asked softly, her heart beating against her chest as if it would burst through at any minute. She did not receive an answer as he turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

* * *

"_Is he like his Da, Mrs. Collins? I ask ye only because naught good will come of ye marriage if so. His mother – poor lass – always had a gentleness about her. I would like ye to have such luck with young William."_

"_He is not as you have described the late Mr. Collins. He has some of the gentleness of which you described, and yet…"_

"_Aye my dear?"_

"_He can't express it. He would never do me wrong."_

"_Ye are lucky then," Mrs. Ferryman's eyes crinkled around the edges with her smile. "His Ma was a lovely lass. He can't be all bad."_

_

* * *

_

Comprehension. Charlotte had pondered on that word all night, her stomach churning as she thought of those confusing, confusing words and the look on her husbands face as she took his rough, cold hand in her. She closed her eyes tightly, willing sleep to come.

When she opened her eyes once more, a few weak beams of sunlight were fighting their way through the window. Charlotte sighed quietly, getting up to bathe. Facing her husband after yet another strange night would tax her.

She examined her reflection in the looking glass and scowled, deciding she must be brave, because that was precisely what Lizzie would tell her to do. Be brave and face the challenges. She called the maid to help her dress, and then readied herself. _Courage, Charlotte._

Her face turned to a warm smile as she descended the stairs and entered the dining room, seeing Mr. Collins already seated. She boldly walked over and sat next to him, not letting her demeanor change.

"Mr. Collins," she began, her voice gaining some strength as she continued. "We are long overdue for a discussion."

For a moment, Charlotte lost her breath as her dark blue eyes locked with his "Can it keep until noon?"

Warmth spread through her stomach as she nodded, her eyes still fixed in the spot. She reached for the teapot and busied herself with her task, filling her husband's teacup without askance.

"I am to Rosings this morning Mrs. Collins," Charlotte immediately felt herself stiffen. "I shall tell Lady Catherine that Cousin Elizabeth is a right woman."

Her husband didn't look at her, but if he had, her smile probably would have amazed him. "You mean to say… you do not agree with Lady Catherine?"

"I did not say that. I have caused you pain, and for that I am sorry," he said softly, taking a sip of the tea Charlotte had poured and seemed surprised at its taste. "Mrs. Collins is there _sugar_ in my tea? You know how Lady Catherine detests sugar!"

"I know," she replied, taking a sip of her own tea. "I also know that you take one sugar in yours. When your patroness is absent, I feel you should be able to have what you like."

"Indeed."

"I think I shall draw this morning. The view from my window is quite picturesque now that spring has arrived."

Mr. Collins nodded, and Charlotte thought she saw a glimmer of a smile grace his lips. "I mean to tend to the garden quite frequently these coming weeks."

"Oh? What a grand thought. I always find the solitude of the garden peaceful," she contributed enthusiastically. "I trust you will find it so too."

"I expect to."

"Mr. Collins, it is nearly half past. Would you like me to send Peter for the horse?"

"Thank you, but I will walk," her husband said graciously, standing. "We will have our discussion when I return," he added, almost tenderly.

Charlotte's heart nearly leaped from her chest when he lightly brushed her hand with his.

"Until later then," she all but whispered.

"Until later."

* * *

_**A/N: **Yes, it's been a long time. But, I'm lazy. I only intended to dabble into this story and make it a ficlet. It will be short, maybe six or seven chapters. Now, to the disclaimer. I own none of it, absolutely none. I own the plot. That's about it. If I were amazing as Jane Austen, I wouldn't be here, would I?_

_And the title song for this chapter is _**Hey Jude**_ by the Beatles._

_Hey Jude don't make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
Then you can start to make it better_

Hey Jude don't be afraid  
You were made to go out and get her  
The minute you let her under your skin  
Then you begin to make it better

And any time you feel the pain, Hey Jude, refrain  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
By making his world a little colder  
Na na na na na  
na na na na


	4. Only Telling Lies

**Warning: Chapter contains scene of a sexual nature, not quite a lemon, but getting there. Therefore, if this offends you, do not read this!**

* * *

Although Charlotte had mentioned to Mr. Collins that she would draw from the window (and, she really had meant to), her mind wandered. Instead of feeling like she was eight and twenty, she felt like she was young and sixteen once more, as frivolous and gay as Lydia Wickham.

Her flights of fancy bought her to the day Mr. Collins had asked her to marry him. She knew that of course he was asking because of the absolute need to fill the place at his side as ordained by Lady Catherine. At that point, Charlotte knew only small things about Mr. Collins, and she was sure that she would immensely prefer a lifetime with him to a lifetime alone.

Of course, from another perspective it was entirely prudent to accept his proposal. She was sensible of the advantages of being married were – her family connections would thrive due to Lady Catherine's reputation.

Mainly, becoming Mrs. Collins was her last chance for marriage. She was not so foolish as to think that any other man would be interested in her. Indeed, she had been surprised that he had even asked. Why not Kitty or Mary? Instead he had asked her.

Though Charlotte had not even contemplated gaining such a high regard for her husband, she had. She could not place the day or the hour, but she had began to see that behind his fawning over Lady Catherine as his esteemed patroness. She had began to see how he cared for people in the community – never were any outlandish gestures made, but the weekly prayer always included a member of the clergy who had recently passed or who was ill or with child. Charlotte had also been quite proud to note that he knew every name of every person that attended his services.

Mr. Collins had always treated her with respect during their engagement. They were married, and had traveled back to the humble parsonage that sat on the estate of Rosings Park.

There was silence that night. Grim silence. The consummation of a marriage was never something she had considered. It was something that she tried hard to forget afterwards. It hurt, and she bled. His shoulders were stiff, his face hidden in shadows as he moved with her slowly. Neither of them had spoken. What had there been to say? She had tried not to cry – it was not as if he was willingly hurting her. Her stifled sobs had reached him, and he had stopped standing and softly pulling the blankets over her once more.

His back was tense, and she could see the carved outline of muscles on his back as he faced in the opposite direction. Eventually the tears stopped and sleep came.

The next day, he had her relocated to the room down the hall with the view of the garden.

She had felt ashamed. Her husband had done everything for her.

She loved him. Despite all circumstances she loved him. Charlotte felt as though she was very foolish, considering that she was well over adolescence, and a man like Mr. Collins should not have made her heart beat so fast.

When Charlotte actually began to draw, she found she could not. All she could think of were the wiry muscles of Mr. Collins' back and the feeling of his soft, dark hair against her cheek. A cheek which now blushed for a reason she could not fathom.

* * *

"Mrs. Collins? Ma'am?" Charlotte was abruptly broken from her reverie at the sound of her name being called by a maid – she was new, and Charlotte could not recall her name. She was standing there, nervously twisting her apron, anxiously biting her lip and darting her eyes back and forth.

"Yes?" Charlotte replied softly, wondering what on earth had put this girl in a state such as this.

"The master has returned… with Lady Catherine de Bourgh!"

Mrs. Collins pursed her lips, standing and moving over to her dressing table. This was not what she had planned at all. Of course he wouldn't have actually wanted to speak to her – no, he was just using an excuse for her to speak to Lady Catherine, to be poked and prodded at until she was no longer in fighting spirit and gave up her friendship with Elizabeth.

"If my presence is requested, then my hair will need to be fixed. Please send up Polly, and quickly," Charlotte commanded calmly, despite the turmoil she felt within the very core of her being. "And please tell my husband I will attend to him as soon as is possible."

Soon, the other maid was sent for and her hair was fixed. Polly finished placing the last pin and smiled strangely at Charlotte.

"Ma'am, you've not got your spirits about you, like you had early this morning. Where's that spark gone?" she asked, gently squeezing the younger woman's shoulder.

Mrs. Collins looked down. "The spark was never there Polly. Surely, you must have imagined it." The unspoken 'I must have imagined it' hung in the air like a thick fog.

And surely she had been mistaken. A soft tone of voice had been mistaken for tender. A coincidental touch had been confused a loving stroke. She should have not had allowed herself to be blinded by her feelings and truly seen his for what they were. Mr. Collins could never love her, and she had never hoped for it. Love in marriage was completely unexpected.

But that did not stop Charlotte from feeling so utterly worthless and disappointed.

When she had readied herself and steadied all unnecessary emotions coursing through her veins she descended to the parlor, bobbing a quick and respectful curtsey to Lady Catherine and seating herself on the only available chair in the room – right next to her husband.

"Mrs. Collins," the mistress of Rosings began her shrill and commanding voice startlingly loud in the sparse room. "I hear that _you_ are still communicating with Elizabeth Bennett! I also am told by Mr. Collins that you were quite _adamant_ in your refusal to terminate your friendship."

"Yes, your ladyship," Charlotte agreed reluctantly.

"You are aware on how negatively this reflects your personality _and_ breeding? I must admit I always had thought you were a genteel sort of woman. Not fit for the ton, but acceptable nonetheless. I was _most_ distressed to hear that you were a strong supporter of my nephew's foolish decision."

Charlotte could not hide her angry blush, and her eyes darted across to Mr. Collins, who was in turn looking at her. His gaze was level, and his bore into hers, as if _she_ was the one embarrassing him. As if _she_ was the one in the wrong.

Insufferable man. He was making her spit out profanities in her head faster than Elizabeth.

"I didn't realise how this would offend you, ladyship. I have had such a long acquaintance with Miss Bennett it did not seem to be good manners to simply end our friendship most abruptly. It seemed so unladylike," she managed, if not somewhat insincerely.

Lady Catherine drew in a most pompous breath of air through her nose before addressing Mr. Collins thus, "If I were you Mr. Collins, I would take a firmer hand with your wife. Though I am most pleased you sought to consult me in this manner," she then turned to Charlotte, who was now blinking back involuntary tears. "And _you_, girl, should heed what your husband says. Otherwise your social prospects will be as barren and undernourished as that of Miss Bennett's."

Charlotte looked down as Lady Catherine stood up, bid her good day, and showed herself out of the room, Mr. Collins in tow. When they had left the room, she covered her eyes, feeling tears track down her cheeks rapidly in shame. Not once had he thought to defend her. Not once had he disagreed with Lady Catherine. Worse, he had lied to her.

No, love could not be hoped for in marriage.

So why did she feel so heartbroken?

* * *

_**A/N: **No, I didn't go insane and just whack in a million and one italics. Lady Catherine definitley speaks in italics with EMPHASIS on CERTAIN words! I hope you enjoy the update - I don't know if the slight bit of sex scene warrants an warning. Though, if I offended, please let me know and I will add a warning at the start. On to the title of this chapter, it comes from the song 'Lies' by Glen Hansard. Appropriate, no? As always, feed back is appreciated. Thanks for reading!_

**Lies - Glen Hansard**

_I think it's time, we give it up  
And figure out what's stopping us  
From breathing easy, and talking straight  
The way is clear if you're ready now  
The volunteer is slowing down  
And taking time to save himself_

_The little cracks they escalated  
And before we knew it was too late  
For making circles and telling lies_

_You're moving too fast for me  
And I can't keep up with you  
Maybe if you slowed down for me  
I could see you're only telling  
Lies, lies, lies  
Breaking us down with your  
Lies, lies, lies  
When will you learn_


	5. If Our Hearts Get Torn

It was some time before Mr. Collins returned from bidding Lady Catherine farewell, though Charlotte was sure it would be glaringly obvious to anyone who cared to look that she had been crying. Her husband was not well known for being observant, but she knew even he could see her red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. Even he could see the way her hands shook as she poured the tea, trying not to look his way.

"Forgive me, madam, I…" he paused a moment, seeming to gather his words. "I had not intended for this to happen."

Charlotte took in a breath sharply, and spoke without thought. "And which part of this afternoon had you not intended to happen? Had you not intended for me to find out that you had lied to me while looking directly in my eye? Had you not intended for Lady Catherine to tear me to pieces in front of you? Which part, Mr. Collins?"

He seemed shocked, as if she had told him something particularly compelling. '_Though,_' Charlotte mused. '_Maybe he is surprised that I have finally caught up with his lies._'

"And this… this is what you believe me to have done?" the clergyman finally muttered, clenching his fists against the fabric of his trousers. "Then hear this, _my dear_. I have only ever tried to do what is right by God, by Lady Catherine and by _you_. Can you begin to comprehend how hard it is to answer to three masters?"

"You… you do not…" rendered speechless by his words, she gathered to regain her composure. The hissed '_my dear_' Mr. Collins had uttered was still repeating over and over in her head. She felt like she was losing control of herself – and she had always been quite sure of what exactly she was doing when she had not been married to Mr. Collins. She was slowly losing her grip and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

"I am not your master, Mr. Collins. How is it you comprehend that?" Charlotte tried to go on bravely, but found her nerve fading in the trailing off of her sentence near the end.

"I live up to your expectations!" her husband replied effusively, beginning to pace furiously. "There is a constant load on my mind, Charlotte. I feel weighed down by trying… trying to just let you be. But you seem determined, tenaciously determined to be by my side yet that night you were repulsed by me. Dear God woman, what am I supposed to think?" the night Mr. Collins had referred to need not have been pointed out.

Her reply shocked even herself at its sudden forthrightness. "You are supposed to believe in me, Mr. Collins. I thought that was what a marriage entailed."

The man before her turned, as if his eyes could stand no longer to look at her. Of course, this was expected. When had she ever been so cruel? To make him look the fool and villain all in one sentence. She had never noticed how remote his dark clothing made him seem, and now Charlotte felt he was slipping farther and farther from her grip when all she had wanted to do was hold him.

"The truth is revealed now, is it? By your calculation my sins are an insurmountable division. And so, Mrs. Collins, we have had our discussion."

With that he left, and Charlotte could not decide whether to cry some more or throw her teacup at the wall.

Sick of lost chances, she left it at the empty feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. He was right, she had created the division between them, and now she did not know how to bridge the gap. William was further away than ever.

There was only one thing left to do, one comfort.

* * *

Dearest Lizzie,

I am most grieved. I have been a fool. Mr. Collins and I have quarreled, and I fear I have irreparably damaged all chance I ever had of reconciling with him. Lizzie, for the first time in my life, I was brave, as brave as you, and it may have cost me everything.

Please Lizzie, only you know of how I suffer. Help me, my dear friend. Tell me how I must right this, how I must bridge this gap between us.

I am powerless against the loathing he must feel for me.

In anxious waiting,

Charlotte Collins.

* * *

Charlotte! Dear Charlotte!

What have you done to make yourself so anxious? Surely Mr. Collins cannot hate you. As much as I dislike him, I do not believe he has the propensity to hate anyone, especially not you my dearest friend, one who has been so good to him, one who has stood by him.

Tell me Charlotte, tell me what has been said. In the meantime, I shall write to your husband and personally invite him to our wedding – he should not refuse if I ask my Darcy to do this as well.

Do not fret – everything will right itself.

Yours,

Lizzie.

* * *

Mr. Collins,

I write to you on behalf of my whole family in wishing you to attend my wedding next month. It would mean so much to all of us to see both you and my dear friend again, and I should very much like you to be there. You, who have been cause for my friends security and health.

If you do no come, dear cousin, I do not know if I shall be able to reconcile with myself. I feel my invitation is shamefully overdue, as are my apologies that I did not send you a formal invitation any sooner. I feel I have grievously erred in this oversight.

Please do come, I entreat you. Mr. Darcy and I are anxious for you to attend.

Yours,

Cousin Elizabeth.

* * *

Mr. Collins,

I hope that you will be able to attend the wedding of myself to Elizabeth Bennet.

Regards,

Fitzwilliam Darcy.

* * *

Darcy –

That was rather a poor effort, dearest.

Your silent and taciturn nature will be the death of our social links, I am sure.

All my love,

Your Lizzie.

* * *

Elizabeth –

Forgive me, what could I have been thinking? Collins obviously is my connection to spheres I could never dream of.

Fitzwilliam.

* * *

Darcy –

I love you too.

Lizzie.

* * *

My Dearest and best Lizzie,

It is done, we shall attend.

But things in our house have not yet been resolved.

I await seeing you anxiously in the next fortnight.

Yours,

Charlotte Collins.

* * *

**This chapter gets a dedication to the amazing extension teacher Deborah Anderson: thanks for setting me an assignment that induced me to procrastinate by writing this chapter. You're a star, Miss.**

**A/N: **_Yes, it's short. I know. But it's here. Hopefully will be able to write more, I am about to start exams, but afterwards I have a two-week break. Hopefully more to come then. So, title of this chapter comes from David Gray's song _This Year's Love_. Yes, I'm in a David Gray phase at the moment. I love him. Anyway, lyrics:_

_This years love had better last_  
_ Heaven knows it's high time_  
_ And I've been waiting on my own too long_  
_ But when you hold me like you do_  
_ It feels so right_  
_ I start to forget_  
_ How my heart gets torn_  
_ When that hurt gets thrown_  
_ Feeling like you can't go on_

_ Turning circles when time again_  
_ It cuts like a knife oh yeah_  
_ If you love me got to know for sure_  
_ Cos it takes something more this time_  
_ Than sweet sweet lies_  
_ Before I open up my arms and fall_  
_ Losing all control_  
_ Every dream inside my soul_  
_ And when you kiss me_  
_ On that midnight street_  
_ Sweep me off my feet_  
_ Singing ain't this life so sweet_

_ This years love had better last_  
_ This years love had better last_

_ So whose to worry_  
_ If our hearts get torn_  
_ When that hurt gets thrown_  
_ Don't you know this life goes on_  
_ And won't you kiss me_  
_ On that midnight street_  
_ Sweep me off my feet_  
_ Singing ain't this life so sweet_


	6. Lasting Treasure or Moments Pleasure?

It was tense in the confined space of the carriage, and Charlotte was struck anew by the huge rift she had caused in their household. Her husband never looked at her, never talked to her, dined separately and was at Rosings even more often than usual. The two weeks that had elapsed between the confrontation over Lady Catherine had been silent, and filled with nothing but empty dreariness of everyday life. Now they were away to Lizzie's wedding.

They sat close, their knees almost touching, and the young woman tried not to think of the proximity, lest she did something to anger him more, like reaching forward to touch the stray lock of hair that brushed against his cravat.

"..._you were repulsed by me_."

How could he have thought that? She was scared, so scared that she was going to make a mistake, or err in some way a disappoint him, something she would never wish to do. If only he knew the way she felt when he was around her.

While Mr. Collins was on a visit to Rosings, Charlotte had received a social call from Mrs. Ferryman, who had seemed quite concerned about the way her husband had been acting. Over a cup of tea and some scones, the older woman had begun to tell of what she had come for.

_

* * *

Mrs. Ferryman sighed softly, and set down her teacup, taking Charlotte's hands in hers. "Now lass, I mean no offence, to be sure, but I coul'na bear to see young William in such a state. Methinks somethin' weighs greatly on his mind. He's been a-walking 'round the park with a thunderstorm brewin' above his head for nigh on three days."_

"_I am afraid," Charlotte murmured squeezing the kindly lady's wrinkled hands. "That I am the cause of such thoughts. I have… caused him pain."_

"_Ye mun have done too much bad. The lad has ne'er been so happy, with ye here."_

"_He thinks I hate him. He…" she paused, trying to choke back tears. "He hates me too, now, for judging him, for not believing in him. I censured him for not believing in me, when it was I who should have believed in him."_

"_Lass, dinna be so harsh on yeself. Ye mun judge yeself so harshly. A lass like ye always takin' the blame," Mrs. Ferryman made a small cluck of disapproval. "What ye and young William have is a relationship that canna work without talk an' discussion. Ye haven't been honest with him and that is the cause. Not judgment, not hurt feelin's. You lack the talk."_

_Charlotte softly laughed. "The last time I tried to talk to him, all I did was made it worse."_

_Wisely, Mrs. Ferryman replied, "There be a difference between ye talkin' and ye understandin' each o'er. Ye mun tell him what ye think 'e has done wrong – that be the sure way to make it worse. Tell him instead how ye feel about him."_

* * *

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. She never could approach him, always feeling he was remote, and hostile. He hated her; she knew that was truly what he thought.

"We are here, Mrs. Collins," her husband stated in a stiff tone, getting out of the carriage and extending a hand to help her out also. Charlotte tried not to feel too overwhelmed by the simple act of courtesy any gentleman would show a lady, but she could not help the way her hand tingled at the touch of his hand, and the way his eyes, his beautiful dark eyes, moved her.

Then, the moment was broken as soon as it had come, as the soon-to-be mistress of Pemberly rushed across the shaded courtyard to greet them. Elizabeth Bennet was, as always, breathtakingly beautiful, dark chestnut ringlets framing her face, and dancing amber eyes surveying her happily.

"Dear Charlotte, I'm so glad you have come!" they younger woman exclaimed, grasping Charlotte's hands and giving her a kiss on the cheek, warmth flooding through her at seeing her oldest and dearest friend. "And you, Mr. Collins, my cousin."

Elizabeth moved towards the aforementioned man and took his hands in hers, at which he seemed quite bewildered. "Thank you, sir, for looking after her so well."

"I fear, Cousin Elizabeth, you overestimate the effect I have on my wife," he replied smoothly.

Elizabeth smiled, a dimple appearing on the left cheek, giving her a mischievous look. "Oh Mr. Collins, I fear I do not," she replied softly, glancing over at Charlotte, who was trying in vain to conceal her mortification.

As the clergyman began to reply again, a fine figure was making his way across the courtyard, his aristocratic face in its usual mask of indifference. Mr. Darcy looked the dame as he always had, and Charlotte found that both intimidating and worrying. Was Elizabeth really going to marry this man, who was displeased with the world and everything and everyone in it?

Her attitude changed when he saw a small smile light up the young mans face as he saw his fiancé. He was immediately transformed into a charming man with a handsome face full of love.

"Mrs. Collins, Mr. Collins," Mr. Darcy greeted them abruptly when he reached them, standing closely at Elizabeth's side so they were almost touching. Charlotte curtseyed, momentarily consumed with jealousy that Mr. Collins did not look at her so, did not want to touch her so.

"We are grateful for your hospitality, Mr. Darcy," the said man replied, bowing and gracing them with a small smile. Her heart ached to see him smile, wishing she had put it there.

"We must go inside, Elizabeth. It would be unwise to tarry here – I believe a storm is coming," Pemberly's master announced, holding out his arm for Charlotte to take, which left Mr. Collins to take Lizzie's arm.

As they strolled to the great house, through the courtyard with its gleaming milky pebbles, grand trees and beautiful lawns, Mrs. Collins compared Mr. Darcy to her husband. They both had dark hair and dark eyes, though Mr. Darcy's were lighter, more maple than mahogany. They were both tall, though Mr. Collins was about an inch shorter than the other, making Elizabeth come to her fiancé's shoulder and Charlotte to her husbands shoulder also, being two-inches shorter than her friend. Mr. Collins was certainly not as handsome as Mr. Darcy, but he was not ugly – just a rather average man.

Charlotte suddenly felt very tired, and stifled a yawn behind her hand, which Elizabeth noticed as they reached the front room of the great house, with all its fine paintings and beautiful pieces of furniture. "Oh Charlotte, I've been neglectful. You are looking a bit pale. Shall I show Mr. Collins and yourself to your room so you can rest before dinner?" she asked kindly, locking eyes with Mr. Darcy for a moment and smiling even wider.

As her older friend began to decline, not wanting to cause a fuss, Mr. Collins had already mentioned that he had noticed too, and if his cousin would be so kind to show him the room, Charlotte could rest there until dinner.

After thanking Mr. Darcy and Lizzie showing them to their room (a spacious affair with mostly blue decorations and dark wood furniture), Charlotte was seated on a chair, while Mr. Collins ignored her, directing servants of where to place their traveling things. After this task was done, Mr. Collins was obliged to look at her.

"Mrs. Collins. Are you uneasy?" he asked softly, coming to stand by her, looking down earnestly. She was momentarily shocked. Why was this soft voice used for _her_? Why would she be uneasy? William seemed to have perceived these questions.

"There is only one bed. I do not wish to offend Mr. Darcy's kindness by requesting another room-"

Charlotte hastened to stop him. "I am not uneasy," she replied, sounding to her own ears, upset. She stood, walking to one of the windows, looking out at the brewing storm.

"That is to say… I do not find you," she dropped her voice a little, feeling like she was going past the point of no return. "_Repulsive_."

She could not see Mr. Collins, so she could not tell what effect her words had on him, but soon she felt his presence behind her, and her breathing quickened as she wondered what he would do, what he would say. She felt her hand touched lightly by his, still behind her, her left to his left, matching gold wedding bands twinkling in the last rays of sun filtering through the clouds and into the room.

"Tell me, Charlotte," his voice was rough with emotion. "Tell me why I am so bewitched with you. Tell me why it is you haunt me."

"I can only say, that it is you who haunts me and you who bewitches me," Charlotte replied, gasping slightly and she felt warm lips on her neck, softly, pleading with her. "I can only say… I love you."

* * *

**A/N: **_Cliffhanger, don't shoot me. Well, wasn't that nice? Charlotte's finally growing a backbone, and Elizabeth Bennet's wedding looms in the distance. But what will become of Charlotte & William? We'll see. Theme song for this chapter is 'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?' by Carole King._

_Lyrics:_

Tonight you're mine completely,  
You give your love so sweetly,  
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes,  
But will you love me tomorrow?

Is this a lasting treasure,  
Or just a moment's pleasure,  
Can I believe the magic of your sighs,  
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tonight with words unspoken,  
You said that I'm the only one,  
But will my heart be broken,  
When the night (When the night)  
Meets the morning sun.

I'd like to know that your love,  
Is love I can be sure of,  
So tell me now and I won't ask again,  
Will you still love me tomorrow?  
Will you still love me tomorrow?


	7. Lead Me To The Truth

Her husband's reaction was to falter in his attentions at her neck and turn her around so they could see each other, eye to eye, hearts beating almost in unison, with a dull  
_thud, thud,_ that held both of their hopes and wants.

Mr. Collins' eyes roamed her face, as if trying to detect any trace of a falsehood, anything misunderstood or omitted. "Charlotte... do not trifle with me... I cannot take it."

"There is no trifle, sir," came her quickly reassuring reply as she moved closer, eagerly seeking anything that would tell her what he was feeling. All she could see was confusion and... hurt. Her heart ached as she examined his face and wondered why she had been the one to drive the gap between them. If she had only said her feelings sooner, told him clearly what she felt and thought, then they may have not had over a year of unhappiness. The man before her had emotions warring across his face, and she could only gaze helplessly on as he processed the information she had given him.

"Then, my love, I must confess that it is stranger still that I," Mr. Collins faltered, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down erratically as he struggled with some inner turmoil. "That I love you."

Thousands of emotions burst through Charlotte, her mind raced and she gripped on to her husband's black-clad arm tightly as she struggle to regain her composure. He loved her; dear Lord he loved her too! Yet again she was amazed that she could feel so much overwhelming emotion without her heart bursting. He loved her! After all this time, after everything she had ever done, he loved her and she loved him, together they had such a strong passion, so astonishing and so _real_.

"Charlotte, look at me," his voice, strong with emotion urged her, and she looked up, almost black encountering brilliant blue. "Know this. I have never meant to hurt you in any way, though I know I have. I've not the talent of loving, I know not how. But if you teach me, and do say you will, I shall endeavour to be a better man, a man of God, a man worthy of the light you have bought, love."

"Dear-heart," the overwhelmed woman began tenderly, earning a slightly startled look from her husband. "Do not shoulder all blame yourself, for I too have been less than I should." She reached up, caressing his cheek with her fingers, her admission having made him look at her strangely, as if he could not believe that this was as real as she had discovered it to be moments ago.

"Let us talk, Charlotte. Let us talk properly this time, so there should be no grievances between us any longer," her husband, her William, murmured, leading her to the comfortably over-stuffed chairs and sitting next to her, clasping her hands within his, as if to reassure himself that she was still there.

"Yes," she agreed, squeezing his hands softly and moving close so their knees lightly touched a little reassuring contact for her also.

"I shall start from the beginning, love. I know that some of what we must dredge up will cause you pain, but I would not wish it so. Indeed, I know you acknowledge that from the turn of you countenance. Now, where shall I start?"

"Mayhap you should start from... that night," Charlotte swallowed, having to drop her eyes from William's, ashamed.

He stiffened and she feared that he would get angry at her again, but he did not. And, at length, he began to speak. "When I came in, you were there and you... you shook, as if I frightened you. Then, I began to - to consummate our marriage and I... you were crying, Charlotte," his voice had gained a rough quality, his emotions seeming to choke him as he remembered. "I had hurt you, and I was angry at myself for doing so. I couldn't continue. The look on your face... I shan't forget it. I couldn't look at you, I was... a-ashamed. There was on lone thought in my head, my love, and that was that I was unworthy, to have hurt you so. I didn't then love you as I do now, but I was determined not..." he faltered once more and stopped, wearily rubbing his hand over his eyes.

Charlotte was bewildered of his recount of the night's events. She had thought that he was angry for her, that she had cried out and stopped him, when he had actually been ashamed at himself, at his own actions. Charlotte began to realise that their whole marriage had been built on misunderstandings, easily remedied misunderstandings.

"How can you bear it, love, my Charlotte? How can you bear to look at me?" William asked his voice gravelly as he brought her back to reality. His eyes were dark with suppressed feelings, and he held her hands tightly, so tightly she thought that he must have been afraid of what she would say or do next.

"It - it is true you hurt me, Mr. Collins," she replied her voice soft and steady as always, trying desperately to sound normal. "But I had not known what the night entailed - nor do I believe you knew much of either. I was scared, and hurt. But I digress. I had wished - hoped - for you to hold me, to assure me that I was still all there, still together and whole after I felt I'd been broken. I thought you were angered by my tears."

His grip on her hands grew tighter still, yet she continued. "But I realise now that we were both scared – you nearly as much as I. And I do not begrudge you, no, I never could I believe. You moved me to the other room, my room, and I thought that you couldn't bear to look at me, and you didn't, not after then, not properly. You looked, but you did not, would not see."

"Charlotte you know now, you must know, I could not look at you for I feared you fear, rejection, disgust at me, at what I'd done to you. I know now that it is... usual for a woman to bleed after her first time, but I had thought I'd – " he stopped, his chest heaving with distress that was evident in his eyes and turn of mouth, and his wife gently disentangled her hands to reach out to him, stroking his face gently.

"I forgive you," Mrs. Collins uttered, her voice seeming to peter out as she gave way to emotion, throwing herself into his chest and clutching to him like a lifeline. After recovering in a moment, yet still holding him, gentler still she began again, "Dear-heart, I forgive it all, but please, continue, do not let me stop you again. I shall be more patient."

William, with a mixture of nerves and joy at the women in his arms and trepidation for what he was about to speak, shook his head as if to rid it of unkind thoughts and fixed his gaze on her, steady and unwavering, his eyes growing a little distant as he recalled. "As I said, I was ashamed and I had made it up to myself that I should be away from you as often as possible – Lady Catherine was helpful in this, though I fear that some days I try her patience as I must with you. However, I digress. I endeavoured to do what I could to show you I was not the monster I seemed that night, and I believe that is when I first began to... esteem you in a way that was more than that feeling of comradeship we had gained before... the night.

"Inasmuch, you know I gave you that garden for your own use, and I confess that when I saw the look of rapture on your dear, sweet face my Charlotte, I knew I was lost forever. No words would come, no sounds, and I fear I seemed curt, moving away to ponder these sudden and unexpected risings from within. Then as you know, there were months of solitude and not unkind words, but I began to feel restless and wanting, there was a wanting within me, a need to know if you could ever forgive me, and (I did not dare think it then) even love me."

He paused once more, and looked to be considering where to pick up from there, thoughtfully running his thumb over her wedding band, back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. "When you asked me if I understood you, when we talked of Cousin Elizabeth and you..." he faltered, looking at one of his hands that was not preoccupied with hers, flexing the fingers in something akin to wonderment. "You took my hand, as if you had been trying to tell me something, and I dared not to hope that you could love me. You must understand my brusque manner, my love, I did not wish to harm you, but I was... tormented by you. I did want to speak to you, and I sought to beg Lady Catherine's favour of Elizabeth, but she came thundering down there, and I could not refuse, I could not speak, and I am sorry for causing you that pain.

"I was hurt, angered by your accusations. I had been trying to show you how I cared, how I had always cared. Do you understand now, my dear?" he finished, his gentle 'my dear' so different to the harsh snap it had been the last time he had called her that.

There was so much to comprehend! Charlotte's mind was ever so preoccupied, running through his long monologue and examining it bit by bit. To think that he had only ever wanted to prove his love, to show her how he cared! They had both been so blind to each other.

"I understand you perfectly, William," the lady's voice was just above a whisper, filled with warmth and barely concealed hope. "I forgive you as I know you forgive my digressions. Let us not do wrong unto ourselves or each other again, my sincerest husband. Let us not dawdle in speaking what we think and feel, but let us from now on communicate, touch and love each other more than before."

With that, her sincerest husband, overcome with joy, swept his dear lady into his arms, kissing her feverishly, wanting, tasting and urging. She, dear readers, replied to his kiss with as much fervour and heartfelt love as she could muster, and through that kiss, words unsaid were said, and never were two such souls unified that had been so miserable before.

His kiss made Charlotte's whole body seem to flare with heat, and his hands sliding sinfully up the small of her back did nothing to quench the fires aroused within her. Slowly, ever so slowly, did they both part, panting for breath, her rosebud lips parted in a silent 'oh' of astonishment, and his eyes alive with fire and barely repressed passion as he gazed at her.

_How beautiful it is, to see such a look for me and only me_! Charlotte thought in rapture as Mr. Collins gathered her to him, holding her tightly as their breathing slowed and they both relished in the joy of simply feeling the other there, their souls seeming to sing in unison as much as their hearts beat in rhythm.

"As much as I... enjoyed such activity, my love," William began, still slightly out of breath. "It would be rude not to attend dinner, and we both must get changed from our travelling clothes." She could almost hear a pearl of wisdom from Lady Catherine added to his sentence, and was glad of it when he kept his silence on the matter.  
After all, she was rather keen on revisiting those rather intimate moments later on that very night. From the flush on the cheek of the man opposite her, it was rather clear that he thought so too.

A rather rewarding evening it had been.

**A/N: **_Hi all! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Charlotte and William make me smile. Anyway, this is what comes of procrastinating on assignments. You can thank my English teacher. Lordy I hate him ._

_Anywho. Music for this chapter is _White Blank Page _by _Mumford & Sons.

Can you lie next to her  
And give her your heart, your heart  
As well as your body  
And can you lie next to her  
And confess your love, your love  
As well as your folly  
And can you kneel before the king  
And say I'm clean, I'm clean

But tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with all my heart  
Oh tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with all my heart

A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage  
You did not think when you sent me to the grave, the grave  
You desired my attention but denied my affections, my affections

But tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with all my heart  
Oh tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with all my heart

Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life  
Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life


	8. Author's Note

_To my fabulous readers;_

I am not dead. Just so you know. But with life being so hectic, I lost inspiration for this piece, but I am very pleased to announce that today, I re-found my muse.

Heck yes, I'm back in the saddle.

So hold tight, re-read, and look for a chapter coming you way soon (hopefully).

Much love,

**SemixQuaver, AKA, Georgia.**

**_.xo_**


	9. Soft Moonlight In Your Blush

**Soft Moonlight In Your Blush**

**WARNING: **_This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature, which may offend some people's sensibilities._**  
**

* * *

Dinner was, for Charlotte, a tedious affair. It was not that the meal, nor the company, nor the atmosphere that made the event particularly displeasing. Yet the way her husbands eyes caught hers, sending fire racing through every place in her body made the whole affair nearly unbearable as she was tense with anticipation. She was, however, seated between her dearest Lizzie and Mr. Darcy's younger sister, the famous Miss Georgiana Darcy who was the very picture of her brother, yet more even tempered and pleasant. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet attended, yet it appeared that Mrs. Bennet was unwell, as her spirits seemed low and her conversation lacked it's usual spark of life, her smile seeming strained and wan. If she was any judge, she would say that the separation from her two elder daughters, though fortuitous, had caused her more loneliness and pain than she had previously envisioned. That said, Mary and Kitty were still with the Bennet's, Kitty seeming less silly away from the influence of Lydia and Mary seeming to have an air of relaxed confidence about her, as if a great weight have been lifted off her shoulders. It was no great leap of logic on Charlotte's part to assume that this was caused by Lydia's absence in their day-to-day life. Jane was present too, her face glowing with warmth as she sat by her husband, her lavender evening gown doing nothing to disguise the evident swell of her stomach, which Mr. Bingley felt obliged to touch every ten minutes or so, much to the delight of Elizabeth, who sighed happily with each attention showed to her dearest sister.

There was one of the party staying at Pemberly whom the Collins' were not acquainted with - a Captain Thomas Bridges, who was a man of the navy and had made his fortune in the war, now a wearied man who had sacrificed a leg and it seemed, the opportunity to marry with it (as young women, it can be noted, would not look favourably on a man of at least five and thirty who walked with a limp and hardly spoke a word). Apparently a childhood friend of Mr. Darcy's, he was a silent and taciturn as Lizzie's betrothed, yet not from any want of manners. His silence seemed to be a heavy silence, one inflicted upon a person when troubling thoughts occupied their mind. That type of silence was very familiar to Charlotte.

Captain Bridges was seated next to Mary, who did not attempt to draw him into conversation until Mr. Bingely inquired of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham and the subject of combat entered the discussion. Charlotte, knowing that this would no doubt stir unpleasant thoughts in the mind of the Captain, began to inquire of how he and Mr. Darcy had came to be re-acquainted, was quickly silenced when she heard Mary's voice, gentle and serious as it always was, say; "Captain, I wonder if you are an enthusiast of music? I enjoy to play the piano-forte, yet lack any real talent." (This was said with a hint of dry humor in her voice and Charlotte admired how Mary had come to accept herself and her short-comings since she had seen the young woman last.) "Perhaps you may be able to show me how well you can perform?" The clergyman's wife smiled to herself, wondering if a new match would be made sooner than they had all expected for the young Miss Bennet.

After dinner, the ladies departed for tea in the sitting room and the men for brandy in Mr. Darcy's study. Charlotte engaged herself in conversations with all of the Bennet's but Mrs. Bennet, who had departed after dinner with her husband, claiming fatigue in a very quiet tone which made even Mr. Darcy seem rather concerned as he bid his soon to be mother-in-law goodnight. It was not long before they came together once more for cards and more cheerful conversation, yet while talking to Kitty about the latest news in Hertfordshire, she continually found her husband's eyes and soon excused herself to find him standing by the fire, conversing quietly with Mr. Darcy. "Good evening, Mrs. Collins," the master of Pemberly greeted her with a slight bow as she joined her husband, who as soon as she stood by his side placed his hand on the small of her back, sending shock waves up her spine.

"Good evening, Mr. Darcy. I did not wish to disturb you, but I must beg your pardon as I am rather fatigued after our long journey and wished to excuse myself," she explained, eyes straying only once to those of Mr. Collins', whose own eyes were dark and seemed to hold hidden secrets in them. Charlotte could almost quiver in excitement, her whole body screaming for him. Never before had she felt such unrestrained passion for one person. She had felt love for Mr. Collins, a deep respect and friendship, but never had her whole body reacted to him the way it was now reacting.

Once Mr. Darcy expressed his wishes that she and her husband (who had also claimed to be rather over-wrought) would have a pleasant sleep and be well rested for the wedding tomorrow, Charlotte and William bid their goodbyes to the party of friends (even Captain Bridges and Mary, who were at the piano-forte together and earnestly discussing the virtues Beethoven in comparison to Handel) and silently went to their room, their pace as fast as they could manage without seeming to be rude or reckless.

As soon as the door had closed behind Charlotte, she stood against it, her eyes locked on his as she contemplated her next move, all nervous energy returning with the brief flicker of memories from her last experience with her husband.

She did, however, feel calm wash over her like a wave on the shore as he moved close to her, lips tantalisingly close, teasing by almost but not quite touching her mouth. "Charlotte... my dear, are you certain...?" he asked her uncertainly, dark eyes half lidded as they surveyed her face, straying almost too long on her pink, parted lips.

"Yes, I am certain. Yes," she replied firmly, closing the small gap between them and boldly pressing her mouth to his, her neck and cheeks quickly flushing a flattering crimson as she became aware of how forward her actions were. Charlotte was not, however, expecting the buoyant reaction she received in return. Her husbands muscles felt tight under her fingers as they explored the muscles of his strong neck and shoulder, yet she did not realise they were tensed in anticipation until too late, he scooped her up as if she were as light as a feather, like air, and carried her to the large four-poster bed, lips never leaving hers.

Mr. Collins' soon deposited her on the bed where she sat, trying to stifle girlish and inappropriate laughter as he stepped back, removing his jacket and tossing it to the side with little care as to where it fell (an action which would outrage Lady Catherine, Charlotte was sure, but she found she could not give a care), then continued on to remove the stifling black cravat and white shirt with it's stiff collar. Seeing his well defined chest, the light smattering of dark hair across his nipples and the slight trail of hair that led downwards, Charlotte almost trembled in anticipation, feeling week. She had never felt so alive as she did in that moment and she could feel a strange feeling, a fire in her stomach, and itch she could not quite scratch. She had felt the same feeling earlier when they had kissed, yet now the feeling was intensified. Even her breasts seemed to respond to him as she felt her small nipples tighten and grow hard.

Distracted as the clergyman's wife was, she did not realise until she felt his hands on her shoulder that he had moved closer and taken her hands in his. Pulling her up gently, William deftly turned her so he could swiftly unlace the back of her gown, which slowly slid down her body and was soon followed by the sinfully soft silk slip as well as the rest of her undergarments until she was completely stripped bare before her husbands gaze as her turned her to him once more. He was looking at her as if she were something fine and precious. So adoring was his look, that should could not help but become extremely flattered. Charlotte had never been a beauty like Elizabeth, but the way her husband looked at her made her feel like she was every bit as beautiful as the two eldest Bennet sisters. After taking off his pants and revealing a quite impressive (and she had to admit to herself, extremely intimidating sight) she slow walked backwards until her calves touched the bed, then sat, moving across so William could join her.

He did and shortly she was lay on her side facing him, watching him as he reached out and caressed the soft skin of her thigh, raising goosebumps on the flesh where his fingers left. "I am afraid, Charlotte," he admitted in a soft whisper, still tracing patterns on her skin and not meeting her eyes.

"Why should you be afraid, dear-heart? For I love you, you know I do. Nothing can change the way I feel," his wife replied, shuffling closer so she could feel his breath fan on her cheeks and over the tops of her breasts.

"You are so small, so fragile... like porcelain. If I should hurt you again I-"

Silencing him with a small kiss to his lips, she smiled as William looked at her finally, dark, wavy locks falling across his concerned brow. "I am afraid too, William. Perhaps if we are afraid together, we will muster up some bravery together. I want to feel how much you love me in every fibre of my being. Please my darling, make love to me. Show me how you care," Charlotte kissed him once more and when his eyes met hers, she knew deep inside that something had changed that would never change back. They had love, they had trust. Soon, she would see just how she would have to trust him. For there was more to be done tonight and the heat in Charlotte's body was almost unbearable.

"Yes. I will show you."

And by the light of the moon, he cupped her face and kissed her deeply. He kissed her like a starving man because he had no right even to touch the hand of an angel like his wife, even when she let him.

**

* * *

A/N: **_I know, aren't I mean? I just wanted to leave you hungering for more, just like Charlotte and William are hungering for a lot more. And trust me, there will be more, I want it just as much as you all do. Coming soon, there will be a wedding and much, much more. Feel free to leave questions in your reviews, I'll gladly answer them. Also, ten points if anyone can guess the nod to a certain book in the last sentence of this chapter.  
_

_On another note, here is a picture I thought I would share with you after phantomballerina sent it to me. It is most definitely the perfect description of what I imagine Mr. Collins to look like in the scene where Charlotte is caught in the rain. As she says; "_Now just imagine him with those curly locks wet from rescuing Charlotte from the rain, and the black shirt being his clerical robes... spot on._"_

**http:/ www (dot) imdb (dot) com /media/rm3322125568/nm0390903**

_Just remove the space :)_

_Oh, and the song for this chapter is _Moondance _by Van Morrison_

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance  
With the stars up above in your eyes  
A fantabulous night to make romance  
'Neath the cover of October skies  
And all the leaves on the trees are falling  
To the sound of the breezes that blow  
And I'm trying to please to the calling  
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low  
And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush  
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

Can I just have one a' more moondance with you, my love  
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love

Well I wanna make love to you tonight  
I can't wait till the morning has come  
And I know now the time is just right  
And straight into my arms you will run  
And when you come my heart will be waiting  
To make sure you're never alone  
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear  
There and then I will make you my own  
And everytime I touch you, you just tremble inside  
And I know how much you want me that you can't hide

Can I just have one a' more moondance with you, my love  
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance  
With the stars up above in your eyes  
A fantabulous night to make romance  
'Neath the cover of October skies  
And all the leaves on the trees are falling  
To the sound of the breezes that blow  
And I'm trying to please to the calling  
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low  
And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush  
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

One more moondance with you in the moonlight  
Can't I just have one more dance with you my love


End file.
